


In Which Aziraphale Successfully Does Not Sell Books

by EmberAutumns



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternatively titled: Crowley is his own worst enemy (Again), Aziraphale doesn't sell his books, Crowley invented the Karen haircut, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Protective Crowley, References to Gabriel, lil bit of angst, rude customers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 10:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19743880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberAutumns/pseuds/EmberAutumns
Summary: Not all of Aziraphale's customers are nice, especially when the Angel refuses to sell his books. One just happens to remind him a bit too much of Gabriel for his comfort, even after the Notpocalypse, but luckily Crowley's more than willing to step in.





	In Which Aziraphale Successfully Does Not Sell Books

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one shot with no editing, if you notice any obvious errors let me know!

Aziraphale had been certain when he woke up that today was going to be a perfect day. It was about a week past the averted apocalypse, the sun was shining brightly over London, and if he remembered correctly there was a new restaurant opening that night. Perhaps Crowley wouldn't mind going with him to this one now that he had no demonic duties to get in the way?

  
Of course, he'd had the rest of the day to enjoy before that, so he'd opened up his bookshop. It was just around the beginning of the school year, which usually meant a lot of teens and young adults coming in for text books (the only books that ever left his shop of course, and even then they were _miracled_ copies, not that anyone particularly minded.) The literature majors were his favorites, he'd had so many lively debates with them since opening the store! Although as Crowley pointed out, he tended to say the same thing about anyone who walked through his doors looking for help.

  
Of course, there was always a certain level of risk that came with opening his store unfortunately. The occasional human would come in looking to genuinely buy a book and he was forced to dissuade them in any manner he could, whether it be through ridiculous prices or simply being unavailable to properly sell it for long enough that the customer walked away on their own. This customer in particular, a woman with what he believed was called a "Karen" haircut, (one of Crowley's inventions no doubt,) was being particularly stubborn.

  
From the moment she had stepped inside she'd been quite rude, making snide comments about everything from the smell of his store to his organization system, to a few pointed comments about his sense of style. She reminded him a bit of Gabriel if he was honest, and the image of his reaction to that comparison was the only thing holding him together at this point. By the time she actually reached the counter, holding a first edition copy of one of Charles Dickens books, he already knew his usual tactic of pretending to be busy until she went away was only going to prolong his suffering.

  
The way the woman was holding the book made his skin crawl, but when he to take it from her she pulled it back towards her, a sickly condescending smile on her face. The faintest prickles of the hair on the back of his neck rising was a foreign feeling that only added to his unease.

  
"I don't believe I saw a price label on this one, really this store is incredibly disorganized, how much exactly were you hoping to get for it?" The woman asked, carelessly flipping the book over in her hands.

  
None of the books in his shop were actually labeled with prices of course, that was part of what made the price raising so _easy_. "That's a first edition Dickens isn't it? Quite a rare book, a real prize for any collection really, I'd have to ask for at least fifty thousand for it, especially considering how great the condition-"

  
"That's bullshit!" The woman suddenly interrupted him, and Aziraphale could feel his heart clench with that familiar fear that he'd messed up again, he'd done something wrong. "You call this ratty thing good condition? I could buy a perfect copy of this book for sixty dollars at most at any other store on the street. I'll give you ten dollars for it."

  
The woman had immediately started digging in her purse, but Aziraphale couldn't find it in him to do more than stand in shock. Ten dollars for a first edition copy of Charles Dickens? "Absolutely Not," he found himself saying, with far more fierceness than he felt at the moment. "I'm sorry Ma'am, but that book is over a hundred years old and was signed by it's author! If you aren't going to respect the history of my books then I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

  
Despite his hopes that the woman would back down in the face of his slightly raised tone of voice, the woman only seemed to grow angrier, slamming the book on the table and reaching across the counter to backhand him across the face.

  
Now, being an angel, Aziraphale had more than enough power to be able to defend himself. A snap of his fingers and the woman in his shop would be little more than salt scattered on his floor. The problem was, Azriaphale very rarely had the heart to do such things, it just wasn't in his nature. Being talked down to and condescended for Millennia by Gabriel certainly hadn't helped either, and in an instant Aziraphale found his mind switching from indignant to questioning. Was he being greedy, trying to keep his beloved book out of the woman's hands? Perhaps he was the one being rude? Very suddenly, the Angel found himself feeling trapped.

  
It was a stroke of good luck then, that Crowley had found himself bored that afternoon, and had decided to pay his Angel a visit. He just happened to arrive outside the door at the same instant the woman lunged for Aziraphale, caught a glimpse of the action through the window, and sprung into action.

  
Crowley was on the woman in an instant, both hands easily trapped in his stony grip, and for once Crowley let his glasses slide down his face just enough to reveal his eyes. The vicious, burning yellow caught the woman off guard as slit pupils stared straight into her own. A frantic scream found itself lodged in her throat no matter how hard she tried, leaving the book shop in complete silence for a single moment.

  
"You are very, _very_ lucky woman," the demon ground out with a voice as low and pitted as gravel, "because if we had met anywhere other than the middle of this bookshop, you would have died for daring to hit him. Not until you begged for it of course. What do you think it would take for you to beg for it, hmm? A few missing fingers perhaps? I'd be willing to relieve you of them if you'd like, they seem to have earned you nothing but trouble today after all." A vicious smirk crossed his face as the woman desperately shook her head, jerking futilely against his grip.

  
"Crowley." The Angel spoke his name softly, but the exhaustion and lingering fear came across loud enough that the demon felt his heart would have stopped if it had ever beat in the first place. Right, time to wrap this up.

  
"I know Angel, no violence in your shop. Just passing along a little warning if I ever see her again." Cowley's voice returned to it's usual lazy drawl, and he let go of the woman to push his sunglasses back up to properly hide his eyes. The woman immediately bolted, and both men found their shoulders relaxing the slightest bit once she was gone.

  
Crowley didn't ask, but the anger that bubbled just below his skin was difficult to hide, just as it had been the one time he'd come face to face with Gabriel wearing Aziraphale's body. Instead, he forced himself to walk slowly around the counter, allowing himself to fall onto the couch tucked behind it with his Angel next to him. He didn't comment when the Angel hid his face in his hands, but an anxious bounce picked up in his left leg as he tried to find any words that could help. Should he offer to make tea?

  
"Thank you." His Angel whispered after a long minute, and Crowley felt himself freeze under the weight of the words. "I should have been able to handle that," he admitted.

  
"S'no big deal. Some humans are stubborn like that, surprisingly good manipulators too. Did a lot of my job for me most of the time." The demon did his best to shrug off the incident, but Aziraphale only seemed to grow more irritated with himself.

  
"That doesn't change the fact that I'm an Angel though! I could have sent her anywhere, I could have forced her to walk away and I didn't! She just-" he'd finally raised his head from his hands, but he didn't look up even as he hesitated, "she reminded me of _Gabriel_. Am I really that pathetic that-"

  
"Gabriel is an absolute bastard that definitely belonged on the demonic side." Crowley interrupted without hesitation, the barely faded flicker of hatred bursting back into it's roaring flame of anger. "He was the one in charge of your execution you know? Didn't even give you a trial, you have every right to be scared of him. He'd make a better Demon than I ever did."

  
"I know, you've told me, I just... I betrayed Heaven, isn't it supposed to be easier now that he can't control me?" Crowley found himself staring deep into the pleading blue eyes of his Angel, desperate for some kind of reassurance. He wasn't really great at the whole helping others thing, but he supposed it was worth a shot.

  
"It's not exactly an all at once sort of thing Angel. Emotions don't always get the memo right away, they need time to figure out that things are different, that you can talk back and teleport people and not have to worry about people gettin' upset over it." Crowley stayed leaned back, acting as if he was staring at the ceiling or maybe a particularly high shelf of books in disinterest, but behind the glasses his eyes remained fixed firmly on the Angel next to him.

  
"Time heals all wounds, as they say," he chuckled softly, as if he didn't truly believe the words even as he spoke them. "It has only been a week I suppose, too soon to tell really."

  
"Oh absolutely, you've definitely got to give it more than a week, I mean that's barely anything to humans, let alone us!" Crowley catches a barest hint of a smile on his Angel's face, and plows forward with all the determination a love-struck Demon could muster. "In fact, what are we even talking about? I believe I've forgotten it already, I'm afraid the little blips in time all blend together after a while."

  
That was enough to earn a small, genuine laugh from the Angel, and Crowley had to hide the internal beaming grin behind a proud smirk. He was more than willing to take full responsibility for the small, soft smile that graced his Angel's face as well.

  
"Well then, I suppose I shouldn't expect you to remember that restaurant opening up down the street tonight?" Aziraphale joked with that playful tone Crowley never could resist, adding in a side eyed set of his best puppy eyes. Crowley crumpled in an instant, not that he was really all that reluctant to agree in the first place.

  
"Yeah yeah, I'm sure they'll have a spare table. I'll make sure of it." The Demon groaned, but couldn't quite hide the hint of a genuine smile tugging at his lips.

  
Aziraphale was beaming now, and that distinct feeling from that morning was back in full bloom, as it always was next to his Demon. "Why of course, you always do."


End file.
